Weekly Open Trackbacks. A “safe harbor” to “suggest” to readers they should take a chance on you(r writings). Go for it.

From last week’s Sea Stories, I discussed the ship at sea always being a place of noise, and I indicated I’d tell more of that this week. Here it is.

On my second ship, one of my collateral duties was that of Gunnery Liasion Officer (GLO), which entailed being the person who managed the trageting of the ship’s guns against shore targets, via a spotter, on the ground or in the air, who would identify and fix target positions.

As part of our “shakedown” training (it was a newly commissioned ship), we had to train in this mission area, and we took a trip from San Diego harbor (homeport) to the west to the firing range off San Celmente Island and I proceeded to practice a skill I first learned in the school rooms of the Fleet Training Center.

I stood at the Dead Reckoning Tracer (DRT), which, for the purposes of this work, was converted to a plain old chart table. The operation specialists had laid out the grid reference charts for the area, and set up the radio circuits and sound powered telephone headsets. Status boards (large hanging, edge lit plexiglass sheets) were redrawn with the format for the fire missions we would be tasked with and positioned so I could easily read them from where I stood. My tools, up to three stopwatches, a sharpened No. 2 pencil, dividers and the “Commanche Board,” also were out for use.

So, “perched” several decks above, and away from the fore and aft 5″54cal MK 45 gun mounts, I would still be able to hear the gun laoding mechanisms doing their work. Two decks below the guns, the magazine crews would pick the type ammuntion and powder charges from their storage and place them in the hoists. Hydraulics and mechanical systems would rapidly raise the 76 lb projectiles and the powder cases up to the gun mount, where they were automatically loaded into a tray before the ram then shoved them into the waiting breech, to have the breech block slam into place behind them, awaiting patiently for the electrical charge that will begin the “explosives train” on it’s path to sending the sleek bullet hurtling towards it’s assigned target.

I felt the operation as much as I heard it. I felt the forward gun, Mount 51, and heard it fairly clearly, but I mostly felt Mount 52, probably 350 feet aft of me in straight distance measurement, insulating itself from me thru multiple bulkheads and 4 decks of aluminum and steel. The firing of either mount, was clearly unmistakable, as I became practiced on sending high explosives many miles away on the word of a disembodied voice on the radio.

“On Station, Ready for Call for Fire” begins the sequence, alerting the forward observer you are available to pummel the enemy who dares to enter his field of view…..

More later…

Lots of distracting things today, to include the upcoming anniversary tomorrow….

But, despite my lack of focus, please feel free to post your links as trackbacks to your work.

There are two subtle things you notice in a life at sea that become so subconscious, you can’t really put your finger on what’s different, unless you think about it for a while.

The first one is the open sea, far from the shore, where the water is deep and blue, smells unlike anything you ever experience on a walk along the beach, let alone in any port facility. It’s a freshness of its own, hence “a fresh sea breeze” being a well used saying. It’s an alluring scent and one worth standing on the “weather decks” and taking deep breaths to get the full effect.

The second thing is there is always noise on the ship. At the very least, even when the ship is “cold iron” (when the ship has the main engineering plant for propulsion and electrical services shut down), the ventilation fans are running. When the ship is up and running, the hull propogates the various noises to travel througout the hull and, with time and exposure, you can detect major and unusual events at the far end of the ship. As Engineer Officer, I became very attuned to the many subtle and not so subtle indications of changes in the plant status. I recall one night, waking and realizing the watch, several decks below had started one engine and were in the process of securing the other in the forward engine room. I, of course, reached for the sound powered phone and clicked the “E-Call” buzzer to get the Enigineering Officer of the Watch (EOOW) to let me know what was up. The standard procedure was to notify me in the event of having to make equipment changes. As it turned out, it wasn’t anything major that had happened.

Two more striking times when the Ship’s noises communicated something very important was 00:32 9/18/1986. I was the Officer of the Deck and we were steaming in the South Pacific. We were running at top speed for one (of 4) engine on line when there was a *BANG* and the rapid decrease in the pitch of the turbine’s whine, as it spooled down to 0. Before the engine had had much of an opportunity to lose much speed, I had already reached for the talk switch on the 21MC box and asked the EOOW what had happened. Of course, he was up to his eyeballs in taking care of getting the initial reports in, but he said “1B is offline, starting 1A GTM.”

So, even in a ship of 563 feet and 7900 tons, the entire structure tells a story…..

The other striking time the Ship’s frame “spoke” to me will be forthcoming next Wednesday in the next schedule Ropeyarn Sunday “Sea Stories” installment.

Batteries Released! Put your links here!

Dateline: Just before Independence Day, 1973, Charleston Naval Base, Charleston, SC, aboard USS CONE (DD-881).

The ship has been to sea for two weeks, playing “Orange Force” (polite way during the Cold War of not offending our enemy by calling our seaborne aggressor units, something other than “red forces.”) surface units, catching up on their Naval Gunfire Support (NGFS) qualifications by sending round after round of 5″/38 cal (54 lb projectiles) at the Carribbean isle of Culebra.

The long weekend was coming, there were 6 third class (“3/c”) midshipmen aboard, the crew had recently returned from a year off the coast of Vietnam, providing real world NGFS services for the Army and Marines, and the stacks needed a good going over with haze gray and the Ship’s company deserved some “R&R” after a hectic operating schedule.

I certainly wasn’t privy to the discussion, being a guy wearing dungarees for 6 weeks, as my first hands on educational experience as a one day to be Naval Officer, but I know this: Someone up the chain of command had the brilliant idea of letting the crew take off early for the really long weekend (Wednesday was the 4th that year), and deemed that the 3rd Class Middies, already with some practical experience handling painting implements in the fire rooms and the interior of the ARSOC launcher, as well as on the Signal Bridge, would be tasked to remain behind and be supervised by the duty section.

So, there we hung in Bos’n’s chairs from the fore and aft stacks, armed with brushes and rollers and prodigious amounts of haze gray, on the morning of the 3rd of July, we went about getting either the Engineer Officer’s of the 1st Lt’s “to do’s” knocked out.

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Post your stuff! Get exposure!

Lots of real world work today. Maybe I’ll “pen” a story this afternoon to put in here…

In the meantime “Batteries Released!

First of all, mea culpa for not getting this up as the sun went past the yard arm. My apologies. Hammer up those great trackbacks and get some readership from my small stable of transient visitors!

During most weeks, I load up the old mental VHS tapes and surf thru them and see which story tickles my fancy (and hoping it will do the same for your fancy), but I was a little preoccupied.

Just at this moment, I recalled the end of a Combined Federal Campaign on my second ship. There’s a story here about sacrificial giving that fits the theme:

It was the last day and the goal wasn’t met, but it was not much more than propbaly $100 away from a successful mark in my “Fitness Report” (FITREP). Back in those days, such things were “challenges” to be faced and defeated, where,. later in life, I have come to understand it’s about us actually considering much more about the comfort of our fellow man.

AS I stood up on the bridge (we were inport), one of the operations specialist’s came up the centerline ladeer from Combat Information Center (CIC). I knew he was one who’s name wasn’t on the division’s envelope, so I asked him if his “division representative” (the division’s chief petty officer in his case) had given him the chance to donate. He started tap dancing, and I knew the Chief was anyting but a supporter of the CFC campaign and had grudginly taken the assignment, but I could tell he didn’t really want to give anything because of something the Chief had said. I was crest fallen, so near, yet so far from a third campaign of my career going in the “Collected 100%” column on the next FITREP. Then he asked a question:

“Does the money go where you write on the card?” “Yes, Didn’t the Chief tell you that?” “No, he said they let you do that to feel good, but they send it where they want to.”

I assured him the money went as designated. I said it with a false confidence then, but found out later I was correct.

He took a card and filled it out, indicating a pretty good sized dollar amount, particularly for an E3. He turned the contribution card over and wrote one charity for the approved listing, and handed it to me. I met goal. He put his money to something he knew was a good place. Win (Command looked good), win (I looked good), win (for his conscience) and for the charity and those it served, a win, too.

Sorry! No stories today, ‘coz we’re raising money for the wounded troops. Valour-IT Kickoff Post

Link your good stuff (and post this link to Valour-IT at your site!)

Sign up your blog to support Valour-IT HERE!

Valour-IT – Laptops for Wounded Troops with Voice Software

It’s almost he month in which we celebrate those who have put on a uniform of the Armed Forces of the United States and defended our country.

This year, as last year at this time, the MilBlogging community “virtually” gathered to care for their own, in particular, those who have suffered wounds in the War on Terror that have left them unable to communicate in the normal manner so many of they, and us have become accustomed to: Via typing their thoughts and greetings into a computer.

Technology has an answer for this type of disability and beginning in 2005, individuals stepped up to the plate to solve this problem by supplying our wounded warriors with laptop computers and vioce activated software, that overcomes the disabling injuries that have rendered the fingers of these men and women unusable.

The genesis of the project was an Army Captain, Chuck Ziegenfuss, who had been MilBlogging before he was wounded in an IED attack, and discussions with Beth, another blogger and plain old American citizen and school teacher with a heart to do something, from Fuzzilicious Thinking, who put their heads together and kicked this off. It’s a testimony about those who complain vs. those who just get it done. Beth and Soldier’s Angels have now supplied, with the generocity of people from around the world, over 500 laptops. Quite an accomplishment for not working this program for even two years.

The name given to this charity is “Valour-IT,” and as last year, we dedicate the days from now until November 11^th as a period to solicit and gather funds to put more systems into the possession of those who have served and now are in need of our help to attempt to restore their ability to use computers to communicate with their friends, family and in the business world.

If you’re not familiar with this project, here is the link to the site where you can find the legitimacy, the history, who is supporting this program in the business world, and testimonies, as well as the link to donate.

for some detailed info on exactly how the Valour-IT laptops are helping the wounded, read this post from Beth, titled “More than a Laptop.”

If you’re familiar with Valour-IT, I ask for your support in spreading the word, telling the story, and checking with the person who controls the purse strings in your household to determine the level of funding you’re able to provide.

I plan to email my contacts, asking the same from them. for those who have a areas where you can post hard copy notices, here is a link to 8 flyers already made up publicize Valour-IT. Print out a few and hang them in full view of youe workmates.

I will endeavor to post the statuss of the fund collections daily, as they are available from the blogs where they are doing the central accounting. We will ask you to decide which service you will donate under, but…in the long run, it matters not, except to provide some of us with the bragging rights if “our” service bests the others.

Update: Black Five, about the biggest MilBlogger there is, has his kick off post up here! Other service team leaders are listed there, but…send your $$$ to the troops thru the Navy button! (Coasties welcomed here!)

Want to play? Sign your blog up here.

Script to add the donation meter is (remove the double quotaion marks from around the first and last “carets” to make the scripting function):

“< "script src="http://www.donationbooster.com/booster/showbutton.php?i=63&item=5&width=70&direction=Vertical&showtop5=No&showgraph=Yes&background=FFFFFF&graph1=FF0066&graph2=990000&text=000000&link=990000&fsize=2&fface=Arial&border=1&bordercolor=000000">“

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Crossposted at:
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This post is placed to help showcase the writings (or rantings) of other bloggers. Please trackback your work!

When I first met him, he was GSE1(SW) Denny Rohr, the leading Gas Turbine (Electrical) petty officer for the Engineering Department of the USS CONOLLY (DD-979). When I arrived aboard in Sept 83, he had been on the ship for several years. During my tenure as Engineer Officer, he passed the test and was selected for and promoted to the rating of GSEC.

Denny was a methodical person and taught me this: “There are no gremlins. If you ever admit that there are gremlins, then you will have them.” However twisted that sounds, his point was nothing was an accident and everything could be explained, even the most transient event observed in the complexities of the gas turbine powered engineering plant. He was right.

When a problem appeared, the first stop for Denny were his several 3.5″ binders know as “Denny’s Brain Books.” His methodology was to record the symptoms and corrective actions for every significant problem/casualty. BY the time I arrived aboard, Denny had amassed quite a collection of solutions, so “issues” were routinely handled in minutes, or hours, not days, as I had been used to in my other shipboard tours. One day, though, a real thinking problem came along.

It was after the complex overhaul in Bath Iron Work from February to November 84. Enroute GTMO for refresher training, the Propulsion Auxillary Control Console (PACC) operator would be scanning his board and note that the clutch/brake for an offline engine in the after engineroom would be on, not a normal condition while we were steaming. Usually, with the shaft not powered, it was still “windmilling” as the other shaft had power. The PACC Operator would report this to the Engineering Officer of the Watch (EOOW), who usually scratched his head, because he hadn’t ordered it. A call would go to the on watch team in Main Engineroom #2 (MER2), asking if they had applied the brake. In fact, while the PACC in the Center Control Station (CCS) had control, the controls of the Propulsion Local Control Console (PLCC)s in the MERs were disabled, so, short of the watch below taking control back via a deliberate action at the PLCC, they could push all the buttons they wanted and nothing would happen.

So…the mystery of the self operating clutch brake began as described above…
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It’s Wednesday once more. Send your trackbacks!

The “sea story” of this day is not a humorous one, but is a story of my experience the one time I personally had to inform someone they had a family member in the hospital, with about 0% chance of survival. It’s one of those things you may have to do in the performance of your duties while on deployment and up the chain of command.

I was executive officer (XO) and we were deployed to the Persian Gulf. It was in the latter half of the deployment and, thankfully, they had modified the operational schedule for us to patrol the northern area of the gulf, as a reward for having spent the first half of deployment operating in the Straits of Hormuz (SOH)/North Arabian Sea (NAS). This change put us close to Mina Sulman, Bahrain and the logistics head of the 5th Fleet.

The Captain called me to his cabin and handed me a Red Cross message. Generally, that’s not a good thing. In this case, it was a very bad thing. The few month old baby of one of our petty officers was in the hospital back home on life support, having been taken there when his wife found the baby not breathing in his crib. It was now my job to get things rolling to get him home ASAP, and I also would be the one to notify him of the medical emergency.

I got back to my stateroom and called down to admin and got PN1 Weber going on cutting orders. I called the Ops Boss and put him to work contacting the ASU in Bahrain. I had the Combat Systems Officer find the man and bring him to my stateroom.

In that short time, while I awaited his arrival, the crew involved had arranged for a helo to come and get him, and a seat on the contract air carrier out of Bahrain after midnight. Better yet, the helo had been flying and would be able to get to us soon. The logisitics in support of this difficult moment clicked together in less than 30 minutes.

I had the petty officer come in and sit down while I closed the door for some privacy. The moment was difficult, and it’s hard to know what to say, keeping in mind you’re 6,000 miles from home and a life is hanging by a thread. It is more than humbling to realize the right words are elusive, even if you have a good vocabulary.

I told him his son was in the hospital in Charleston and we had arranged for him to be flow into Bahrain for a flight home that night. I handed him the Red Cross message and sat silently while he read the few short lines of (bad) news from home. He said nothing. I told him how sorry I was, and he needed to get below and get a bag packed, so he could get home. He was not a man who drew attention to himself, but he was one of those who got the job done, and sort of stayed back in the shadows, but he was even quiter now. I can only figure the emotional shock was gripping him. He stood, I opened the door and told him to let us know what we could do, and to contact the squadron when he got home. We would notify them of the case.

Off he went to pack, and shortly there after, we set flight quarters for the “Desert Duck” to do the “pax transfer.”

The sad part was the baby had no hope, but he was able to be with his wife for the decision on whether to continue life support.

In the military, you are fully engaged in the lives of those you serve with. There are the good times, the parties and tactical successes to tell of in later years, but these type of moments are a part and parcel of the experience as well.

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